“Girl, if you want that man to stay around, you better cook something.”
You can look like a model with a career and ambition, but you’d better know how to make a mean lasagna, because looks, money and even the flyest of shoes can’t keep you warm at night. You need to get you a man. In support of this, ask any brother the importance of a home cooked meal, and they’ll tell you the same thing, “That’s what keeps a man coming back.”
I’m not an “independent-superwoman-who-doesn’t-need-a-man-to-validate-myself.” (The fact that feminine independence is viewed as a quality both desired and deprecatory is it’s own topic altogether.) I enjoy companionship. When I meet a gentleman whose company I enjoy, I will ultimately cook for him. When I was married, I loved cooking for my family. My Sunday morning breakfasts are still the stuff of legend. I get down on my Southern hospitality, and I love sending friends home with good times and full tummies. However, knowing my first name and carrying a ‘Y’ chromosome does NOT equate a free ticket into my kitchen.
I will once again blame the media-hyped man shortage for this explosion. Brothers from thither and yon are not only demanding that women get in the kitchen, but chastise any that don’t. Fifty years ago, the onus was on men to prove that they were able to provide for a family. If you’re in my age group and had old school parents, we can push that up to twenty years ago. (When my oldest friend’s now-husband asked her father for permission to marry her, his response was, “I really like you, but, what do you do and how much do you make doing it?”) Men went out to work, women stayed in house. My own mother only worked outside of the home when we were in dire straits. In those instances, part of a woman’s job description, as it were, was providing a home cooked meal.
Today, being a stay at home mom is a position held by a select few, and in this economy, even stay-at-home wives are taking on more work-at-home projects. If I can accept that times have changed. If I were to even consider chastising a man for asking a woman to marry him with the knowledge that she would have to work outside the home, I’d be strung up by lunch. As such, I think you can accept that in 2010, when women can draft legislation, go to into space, fight for our country, research cures for diseases and become Secretary of State for one of the most powerful nations in the world, to label a woman a “failure” for not being able to cook a pot of gumbo is rather ridiculous.
I won’t understate the importance of cooking. To prepare edible meals is crucial to self-sufficiency and survival. Additionally, there is absolutely NOTHING wrong with preparing a meal for your king. I will not go into what makes a man worthy of being or not being your king. If he is who you selected as a mate, govern yourself accordingly and get down for your crown. Cooking, and other thoughtful gestures extended toward the people in your circle are acts of love. But a lot of folks are pulling out five star meals for the court jester. Guys who have no intention of serious and respectful dating, much less a long standing relationship. Simply put, if a good meal is what keeps a man coming back, what if I don’t WANT you to come back?
There are great guys who get the raw deal from women that only want to be taken out, without offering much in return. If my words don’t apply, let it fly. These days, people are performing illicit sex acts just to get groceries in the house. This is for some of your brethren, who reek of Axe’s Bootycall & Bad Intentions, demanding sandwiches made from my $9.99/lb cajun turkey, $7.99 Swiss cheese and $3.99 bread, then suspiciously eyeballing my Claussen pickles and toaster oven; yet bringing nothing more to the table than their two cents and appetite. Do. Not. Want.
Before you start handing out labels on how unsuitable “some of these females” are. Check yourself. What are YOU working with? A LOT of you aren’t even coming through with fresh laundry, or any discernible cooking skills of your own, but want the sister girl Martha Stewart that can orally service you from the back with a crazy straw (c. The Champ). Pop that U-ey and take it to Wendy’s fam. I’m selective about who dines in my establishment.